


An Unexpected Catalyst

by Batkate



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Smut, Stephanie Brown as Nightwing, dirty thoughts about coworkers, some dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batkate/pseuds/Batkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Steph’s first night off in weeks. Damian’s 19 now — he can handle a night on his own, right? But when things go wrong, Steph needs to save him … and everything could change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was 9:04 PM on her first night off in weeks when Stephanie Brown turned the faucet on in her bathtub. It took until 9:07 for the water to be ready for her to pull the shower tab and step in. And it was at 9:36, right as she was rinsing the shampoo out of her hair, that she wondered if she could take heavenly 30 minute showers all the time.

Sure it was just her dinky little bathroom in her dinky (she preferred the word “modest”) little apartment — it was nothing like the luxurious accommodations at the Manor or even the Grayson/Gordon penthouse. Still, Stephanie saw this warm, soothing shower as a quiet celebration of the ordinary … a nice little start to her night of peace and quiet.

So when she heard the faint but distinct ring of her “work” cell through the roar of the water, her first reaction was panic. Immediately followed was her leaping out of the shower (barely missing tripping over the rim of the tub), snatching a towel to wrap around her while rushing into her bedroom and lunging across her bed. She landed on the mattress with a bouncy thud, but managed to grab her phone on the last ring.

“Hello?” she said, out of breath.

“Brown.”

“Damian,” Steph said, “What’s wrong?”

There was a pause. “Wrong?”

“There isn’t anything wrong?” she said, her heart still racing and her mind still trying to catch up.

“Not that I know of,” he replied, “Should there be? When you gave me this number, you didn’t tell me it was for emergencies only.”

“No, it isn’t,” she said, half laughing at herself for panicking, “I just thought the worst.”

“Ms. Positive thought the worst? Color me shocked.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, hopping off the bed, “Anyway, I thought you were on duty tonight.”

“Will be. Just finishing suiting up. Since _Nightwing_ ,” he added an extra emphasis on the name, “will apparently be taking the night off, I’ll be going out. Alone.”

“Well, _Nightwing_ feels that she might have earned a night for herself,” she sent back at him.

“T-T.” Ah yes, the classic Damian reply. The disdain was still there, but it was still strange as hell to hear his voice so deep, even if he was 19 now.

Not to be fooled by his guilt trip, she added, “Well, if the great and powerful Robin is really that desperate for a partner tonight, he can always call Dick for help. Not sure if Dick’ll fit into _my_ Nightwing suit, though.”

She could almost hear him roll his eyes.

“Please, Brown — we all know Grayson is already well out of shape. I visited him this week to check on the hellion—”

“Hey, that’s your niece you’re talking about—”

“—and Grayson looked positively unheroic. I’m pretty sure he’d developing a gut.”

She didn’t feel like telling him that Barbara recently mentioned Dick gaining a few pounds since Ellie was born. It was never a good idea to tell Damian he was correct about something unless absolutely necessary.

“Well, we can’t all have perfect Wayne genes, now can we?” she teased. Not that it was much of a tease considering it was a compliment. Still it got him to be quiet for a moment or two as he was clearly contemplating something. Steph waited, knowing by now when the guy was building up to something. Any second Damian would—

“I’m a bit insulted I wasn’t informed of your plans tonight.”

And there it is, she thought with a huff. She shouldn’t have been so surprised he was giving her some form of a guilt trip, but this was supposed to be an easy night. Stephanie had had it all planned out. All of the classes she was TA-ing were off for fall break and that included her night classes. So that meant a whole evening off and pretty much the next day as well.

She sighed. Of course, Damian wasn’t going to let her have it easily. “Actually, Dami,” she said as she went back to the bathroom for her comb, “You were informed. By me. On Sunday when we sparred.”

He scoffed. “I think I would remember.”

“You could prove it by pulling up the security footage in cave,” she countered.

“… Well, maybe I was distracted by your weak side kick and didn’t hear you.”

She shook her head and didn’t respond right away, instead using her towel to get out some of the excess water from the sopping hair. She’d known the guy for so long that it was obvious when he was trying to bait her to respond.

He finally caved. “So you’re going out to the city tonight? For fun?”

“Maybe,” she said, knowing full well this would be an evening in, “I do have the party dress from the last Manor party that I want to actually get some use. You know, the one you said was too short?”

“It _was_ too short—”

“Anyway, why do you want to know?”

“Considering Father and practically all our allies are out of town this week? In the middle of summer, when criminals are most likely to be out on the streets? Oh why ever would I want to know where my only partner in the city will be while I work to protect the city?”

She half laughed. “Does that mean you’re worried about me?”

“I thought as one of the few semi-competent protectors of this city, you’d want to take this newly free night to further protect Gotham citizens, but apparently now you’ll be gallivanting off into the city, probably with your phone turned down far too low to hear when you’re called in for back-up.”

And there was his slip-up. “Oooh, you think you need back-up, Robby?” He hated when she called him that and she knew it, but it served him right for keeping the Robin suit at the age of 19. “Worried you’ll get in too deep?”

“Hardly,” he said, his tone too even to actually be even.

“Look Dami, if you don’t think you can handle the load—”

He cut her off with that weird tut noise of his. “I can handle it, Brown.”

“Then maybe you’re just worried about getting lonely,” she said, a grin plastered on her face.

“Don’t flatter yourself, woman,” he said. There was another scoff, but no malice behind the dismissal.

“Oh, I think you’re a little lonely,” she pushed, pulling the comb through her wet hair, “I think you’re lonely, all alone on the mean streets of Gotham. You’re missing your favorite partner.”

“Well I am, but he’s still on paternity leave.”

Steph paused mid-combing. She glared at the spot she was imagining Damian to be. “Okay, that was a low blow, Wayne.”

“Perhaps,” he said, the amusement clear in voice, “but if you don’t think you can handle a little ribbing, Brown … ”

She considered coming up with a retort, but laughed in defeat. “Okay, Dami, you’ve stalled enough. Go out and don’t get hurt, okay?”

“Worried about me?”

“More like I’d hate to have to stitch you up again.”

She could hear his indignant snort through the phone. “Trust me, your less-than-gentle first aid skills are not—”

“Stop stalling and go already!” she laughed. “I’ll come by sparring tomorrow.”

“… See you tomorrow then,” he said, the amusement still strong, “Robin out.”

_Click_

“Dork,” she said with maybe a bit of affection to the phone before getting into her “comfy as hell” attire for the muggy summer evening — an extra large sleep tee and some boy shorts. She moved into living room, stretching her sore-as-hell limbs and ruffling out her drying hair.

God, it was a relief to have one night to herself with some wine and a smutty trash novel. Not that she didn’t love being Nightwing; she was honored that Dick chose her to fill his shoes while he did the daddy thing with O, despite being scared out of her mind doing the superhero thing again after being out of the field for so long. Two years changed a lot. Edging into her late 20s without sticking to training changed a lot, too.

But five months in and she was definitely back in fighting shape. Plus her graduate schedule wasn’t kicking her ass nearly as much as she thought it would. Dick was right — the job was just like riding a bike. A bike she had spent a good decade on as Spoiler, Robin and Batgirl, so it just felt natural to get back into the pace of things.

If she was being honest, she thought as she plopped the lasagna from Alfred into the microwave, superhero gig number four had been surprisingly pleasant. Not least thanks to a particular teammate not being such a little shit anymore.

 _At least he’s stopped calling me fat_ , she smirked to herself as she poured herself a glass of red something or other wine. Working with Damian in her early Batgirl days, with his insults and superiority and generally overblown ego, was a challenge at best. But she stuck around and towards by the time she hung up the cape and focused on preparing for grad school two years before, he had blossomed from an uppity 10 year-old to a moody 17 year old — somewhat of an improvement.

The microwave beeped and she managed to get the ceramic dish onto her counter top without burning herself. Grabbing a pot holder, a fork and her wine, she brought her bountiful meal to the couch where smutty book sat on the table.

But yeah, she thought while settling down on the sofa, working hand-in-hand with Damian as her main partner was going smoothly. Expecting him to protest her taking over as Nightwing (either because she wasn’t good enough or because he had wanted the honor himself as Dick’s former sidekick), she was a bit taken back when Damian gave her a once-over and an almost friendly “Good to see you, Brown” on day one. Since their work-out schedules seemed to overlap most days, he had been a huge help in getting her back into fighting shape; the extra training (and the extra getting to know each other) meant they ebbed and flowed well during combat. More than that, he actually listened. He actually listened to her when she came up with a plan, even acknowledging when said plan worked. And the obligatory snarky comment he loved to add came off almost sweet.

 _Wait, what?_ She shook off the last thought with a laugh because, well, a sweet Damian Wayne was just too weird. Tolerable Damian? Sure. Mature Damian? A stretch but possible. Sweet Damian? Way too weird to think about. The point was, she thought as she took another forkful of lasagna and another drink of wine, he had certainly changed in the course of her two year hiatus from the “life.” Sure, the snark and general Damian-ness was still there (case in point, the phone call), but he wasn’t nearly so impatient or condescending. She liked the person he was becoming.

And with him edging towards his 20th birthday, Steph was starting to wonder just when he was going to put away the Robin costume for whatever was coming next. Damian didn’t talk about his “right” as the heir of the Batsuit anymore (part of that new-found maturity, apparently), but it had been clear for a while now that Bruce was finally coming towards his retirement … a real retirement, not a “I was legally dead” retirement. Dick had also hinted over the past few months that one of his reasons for asking her to come back to the field was to assess if Damian was ready to take on bigger responsibilities … especially if Gotham was going to need a new Batman sooner than later.

It wasn’t a bad idea — Damian would do well in the big suit. Dami might not have realized it yet, but he was “really really” ready for it. There was something sort of nice (sort of warmed her from the inside out) about about how far he’d come and she was proud to have been a part of that in her own small way. If Dick needed Steph to convince Bruce — and Damian — that he was ready, she’d do it. And if Dick decided to keep doing the Mr. Mom thing permanently, she wouldn’t mind it if the new lady Nightwing worked alongside the new hot Batman.

She blushed a bit, her own words catching up to her. Hotstuff? No, not hot. Just … up and coming Batman, more like.

She exhaled a long, audible “Hoo.” It wasn’t that he wasn’t attractive. He was. But he was … young. Well, he was 19 but 19 was still young. And it didn’t matter that he had filled out in the past couple years and their newly established banter could have been considered flirting by someone who didn’t know them and he had those broad shoulders now and—

 _And clearly I’ve been drinking this wine too fast_ , she thought as she gathered up her plate to put in the sink … and went for glass number two. Then she could get to her reading since she was clearly in need of some sexy Steph time.

She snatched her worn copy of _The Seas of Passion_ and opened it up to the eared page where she left off. She was doing an effective job multitasking her reading and drinking, getting sucked into the silly, smutty story and letting the wine go to her head. She started nodding off somewhere early into her third glass and before the second sex scene, drifted off into dreams filled with pirates and wenches and the passion of the seas. Still, even during the dream itself a corseted Steph noticed that Captain Albrecht was no longer lightly tan with angelic blonde hair that blew in the wind but had a dark olive complexion, his hair short and dark and his eyes a startling icy blue. But with the Captain’s hand creeping between her legs—

_CRASH!_

Steph gasped and her eyes flew open, as her mind went to panic mode. All thoughts of her dream and her sleep shattered when she realized that the crash came from her bedroom. Remembering she finished off the wine with the last glass, Steph reached for the empty bottle and crept towards her room. She pushed the door (which was thankfully slightly ajar) open and leaned in, ready to attack her intruder. The window was opened, her curtains and curtain rod pulled to the carpet. Her big floor lamp was also knocked over, muddy footprints moving away for it to the far corner where she found—

“Damian!”

He was curled up in a ball, shaking with pain. The bottle slipped from her hand, bouncing onto the carpet forgotten as she rushed to her injured partner.

“Damian, what happened?” she asked as calmly as she could as she knelt beside him. A quick look over showed no major injuries — a few scratches here and there and some muddy bits on his costume but no gashes, no bullet wounds, no apparent head injury. “Can you move?”

His eyes still closed tight in pain, he nodded. Grabbing his forearms, she was able to help him up. Once he was stable, she looked him over again, just to make sure there was nothing she was missing.

“I … I need …” he got out.

“Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine. I’ve got my first aid kit in the kitchen,” she said, still trying to keep him steady. “We’ll get you to the couch and then I’ll do a horrible job patching you up like always.” With the adrenaline still pumping though her system, she almost had to laugh at her own panic. And on her day off, no less. “You really can’t get along without me, can you Dami?”

His eyes were still closed shut.

“Stephanie …” he moaned.

“Hey,” she said, “I’m here.” She moved one hand to cup his jaw. At the touch, his eyes flashed open, the normally ice blue now a vivid, almost glowing green. But any inkling of what that meant was cut short when slammed her against the wall, pressed his body to hers and kissed her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that we get into some dubcon territory in this chapter and the next one. I try to handle it well but if it's a trigger for you please be aware that it's in here.

Okay, Damian kissed good. And tasted good. And the feeling of her body pressed against the wall as he pressed against her, his hands holding her firm by the waist was just … gooooood. So gooooood that Steph kind of just started kissing him back, her eyes closing without her permission and her brain shutting down. Still a teensy bit tipsy, she was focused on the pressure of his lips and the little alternate nips as he moved his head to tilt the other way and once she opened her mouth a bit, his tongue darting against hers. Oh god, that fucking tongue. She shivered and sighed and he pressed his pelvis just a little firmer against hers. He had broken down the wall and they could finally stop ignoring the partner banter and the smiles and the big ball of weird tension that kept giving her weird fluttery stomach feelings.

“Dami,” she managed to get out as she broke the kiss for the simple need to breathe. He started kissing her jaw and her fingers started combing though the hair on the back on his neck. She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face.

“Damian,” she tried again, hoping to find some purpose in her own words.

“Stephanie,” he groaned. He was grinding up against her. She could feel him hard against her leg. She was grinding back against his leg now and he nearly growled against her skin.

“Damian, you were hurt,” she said still moving her hips a little as he rubbed against her, “I still have to examine you.”

“Yeah, you do,” he said in a voice that sounded wrong and dark and sexy as hell before his mouth shot to her now exposed neck, sucking hard against a special spot that Steph was not aware until that moment existed. But with lightning shooting to her belly in horny electricity, she sure knew about it now.

“J’ai rêvé de cela,” he practically growled against her skin. “Je te veux si mal. Je tiens à vous lécher partout.”

 _Oh. French. He’s speaking French._ That’s … new, she thought as her smile faltered. She was pretty sure he knew she couldn’t speak French. _Maybe he does have a concussion. Shit, maybe I should try to get him to sit down._ His hands crept to the hem of her sleep shirt, moving around to cup her ass.

“Votre corps est céleste,” he whispered against her lips. “Je pourrais l’adorer.”

Well, she didn’t speak French but that was hot. As was the little squeeze he was giving her ass and the way his tongue was back in her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling so he came down to her level and she went up to his, letting their kisses deepen. _Let this happen_ , a voice came from the back of her brain. _He wants you. He wants this._ Oh god, the friction of her boyshorts and his suit leg felt amazing against her core. And he smelled so good. Like his normal musky smell but also sweet like … roses.

Or … ozone.

Steph’s eyes flashed open. _Shit. Shitty shit shit._ Her heart raced as her brain put it together. His bending over in pain. The sudden make-out session. The out of nowhere seduction. The _freaking French_. And his eyes. His green eyes. That was never one of the symptoms before, but …

“Wait,” she said, her voice shaking as she pulled away from his mouth. “Damian, where were you tonight?”

“I’m here,” he said, using that sex voice he pulled out earlier, “With you.” He started leaning forward again to get back to the kissing.

“No, Damian,” she said firmly, holding his shoulders back firmly, “Where did you go on patrol? What were you doing?”

He blinked, panting. “I—” he struggled to get out the words. “I don’t remember … ” He looked down, himself getting panicky.

“Damian,” she said again, “ _Please_ don’t shut down on me. Focus. You hung up the phone with me and were going out.”

He nodded weakly. “Running late. I was running late. Went right to listening to the police alerts. I … there was a break-in. The Arboretum.”

_Shit._

“Ivy,” she gritted. It wasn’t even a question — they both knew. When he opened his eyes again, they were clearer, but still with that iridescent, swirling green that threatened to pull her in with its intensity.

“Your eyes are green,” she said, as if that was some brilliant revelation, “That’s … that’s new for her.”

He nodded again, subconsciously leaning forward into their previous position. And she might have noticed it if she wasn’t busy hating herself. And she really did hate herself. She should have known. She should have known this was stupid Ivy’s horny pollen toxin bullshit. Green eyes were never a thing for this before, but damn it, she should have realized it with everything else. Why else would he throw himself at her? Why else would Damian Wayne ravage her against a wall? A pit of dread fell into her stomach. Oh jesus, she kissed him back. She was ready to take him to bed. She almost—

And now he was kissing her neck again.

“Just a little more,” Damian begged, his voice full with that desperate craving that went with the toxin. And for a split second, her body pushed her to let it keep going. She had to keep her focus to help Damian, but that knowledge didn’t stop his mouth from feeling amazing on that little spot he discovered so quickly. It had been so long since anyone … so maybe just a little more kissing—

“No,” she said staunchly, trying to pull away a bit from his adoration. She wouldn’t do this. “We can fix this. Your belt. The anti-toxin.” 

“Civilians,” he gasped out, still kissing her neck, “Two scientists. She got all three of us. Green eyes. This new strain it … one anti-toxin dose wasn’t enough. I had four doses, Brown. They needed all of them.”

Steph tried not to groan. Of-fucking-course, he had to be selfless and now he was the one in deep shit. Not that she wouldn’t have done the same, but still.

“What about—”

“Out of town,” he said, still panting against her skin.

Double shit. She knew that, but still … shit. Not that she really wanted Bruce to come in and see his son like this, but she was still hoping he and his stocked utility belt would be close. Cass was out of the country on some ninja mission. And the rest of the family was on opposite sides of town from the apartment, except Tim, who was up in the Watchtower. And then there was her. He came to her thinking she’d have the antidote.

“Damian,” she said as gently as she could. He needed to know.

But he only moaned back.

“Damian—”

“I like how you say that,” he growled.

“No, Damian,” she said far more firmly, taking his face in her hands so he’d look her in the eye, “You don’t understand. I don’t have my suit with me. It’s at the Cave being mended.” He came here clearly as a last resort and she didn’t have the freaking antidote and now he was nuzzling her right hand, applying open mouth kisses to her palm before leaning back in to—

“Damian!” she said, pulling her hand back and trying to shake him (and her) out of it, “You need to listen to me. No suit means no antidote.”

“Don’t care,” he moaned, swooping her into his arms and kissing her again and muttering “I need … I need …” against her mouth. He struggled to get out the words.

Oh, she knew exactly what he needed and he was going to hate her for it. Horny, pollinated Damian might be a-okay with her getting him the care he needed in non-professional ways, but she was pretty sure regular Damian would not be okay with what she was going to have to do. And that made her not okay with what she was going to have to do. She was full out dreading it.

Because okay yes, Damian had won the puberty lottery. She wasn’t blind and she attracted to the male gender and yes, he was a hot 19 year-old who was often doing pull-ups near her while shirtless. Or pinning her down onto the training mat during sparring while still being shirtless. And yes maybe them getting along better made him that much more appealing to her as a hot male specimen. And yes maybe when she had enough time before bed to get out the vibrators, his face had flitted onto some of the random fantasy guys she conjured up to get into the mood. Maybe his face would occasionally be the one that stuck around once her body really started going. Maybe she had imagined him panting just like this. Him kissing her just like this. And under other circumstances …

But that didn’t change the fact that he was on Ivy’s pollen and was in pain. Despite it making certain usually fun urges come to the forefront, the pollen wasn’t something anyone would want to take willingly once they’d experienced it. It wasn’t freaking Viagra. Steph had learned that for herself years ago as Batgirl … she had been caught without an anti-toxin on her belt and the need to get naked with the nearest person was so strong that she was ready to rip her clothes off right there in the Wayne Corp. greenhouses. But it didn’t feel good as much as burned. It was like a desperate urge that could never possibly be fulfilled on her own, an undying craving that quickly had her curled in the fetal position, doubling over in pain.

But that was when Black Bat found her. And Cass took care of her. Cass forced her to stay still with a sitting hold maneuver of Steph’s back to Cass’ front and within two minutes of careful touching and soothing words, Stephanie had felt the painful pressure of her arousal released. They never talked about it after but for as long as she lived, Steph would always be grateful for how Cass helped her that night.

“Browwwn,” Damian groaned. He was back to grinding certain body parts against hers (certain very hard body parts, Steph noticed), but he was clearly holding himself back from going further, obviously not wanting to do something he would regret despite the toxins pushing him to do more. His brow scrunched in what should have been pleasure, but what Steph knew was growing into pain … and not the fun kind.

Quickly going through what she knew from treating Ivy’s victims and her personal experience with this chemical, she knew his heart rate was getting faster, that his mind was becoming more and more disoriented. It was developed by Ivy to stop her foes outright, adding a bit of humiliation to what she saw as mankind’s ego. Steph’s impromptu make-out session with a team member — one she had started thinking about in a not entirely pure way — might have seemed like a fantasy come true from anyone on the outside, but Damian was in serious trouble. Even if she could get him to her car (with the way he was writhing against her, that would be a fucking miracle), they wouldn’t make it to the manor before he went into cardiac arrest. And thanks to Ivy’s sick sense of humor when it came to distracting her foes, there was only one way to release that tapped adrenaline.

She could feel him shaking against her. His life was in danger and she was going to have to do something that he would probably hate her for in the morning, but at least she knew that it wasn’t sex in the strictest, heteronormative sense that would neutralize the toxins.

Meaning that intercourse wasn’t necessary for him to get through this. Meaning she could get his body back to safe levels with what was basically second base in high school petting terms. That was how Cass saved her, so Steph knew it would work and she knew it had to be her. Being desperate and needing an emergency handjob would embarrass anyone, but Damian was one of the proudest people Stephanie knew. Even if time wasn’t of the essence, he needed someone who could handle his situation quickly … efficiently. Who could keep him from doing anything more embarrassing or regrettable than absolutely necessary. Who could make sure he was okay without taking advantage of the situation. And as much as his mouth on her neck (oh yeah, he had gone back to kissing that one beautifully sensitive spot on her neck) was tempting her to give him what he asked, she knew what needed to be done.

When she had been edging close to death and the only way through it was to orgasm to another person’s touching, she had been lucky to have a friend who would do what needed to be done. And now Steph would be paying that kindness forward.

“Stephanie, anaa ataajok.” he stammered out against her ear in a language she didn’t even recognize, “Anaa ataajok.”

“Damian,” she said, edging his shoulders back with her palms. His eyes were hooded, still glazed, but some focus seemed to be in there behind the green haze. “I know you’re fighting it, but you need help. Let me—” she said, “—let me help you, okay?”

Her shaky right hand edged down the front of his costume, her other hand holding first on his shoulder to keep him in place. She carefully loosened his utility belt, her mind racing as she planned out how to go about it. Cass had kept her firm in place, sitting behind Steph with both of them on the floor so her hands could do the work. Ideally she’d want to get Damian on his back ( _No, not like that!_ she yelled in her own head), but she didn’t want to spark the pollen in him when he was so calm now.

Once the utility belt was unactivated and put aside, her hand moved back to his torso, hesitantly creeping between the top part and bottom part of his costume. She felt his abs flinch as her fingers reached flesh and wasn’t sure if the hitch came from her throat or his. She knew touch was important. Intercourse itself wasn’t needed, but someone else’s touch was. Gathering her gumption, Steph reached under the waistband.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've put this down as three chapters total, but there will actually be one more after this. Also like last chapter, there's a warning for dubcon. Take care of yourself if that's a trigger for you.

_Oh. Okay. That’s, um … large._

It’s not like she didn’t have some idea of his size — he would wear just the bottom half of his suit around her occasionally and when you’re treating your male partner for a knife wound on his lower abdomen it’s not like you can _avoid_ looking at his general hip and groin area. But it’s one thing to get a general, non-erect inkling of a body part and it’s a whole other thing to feel it in your hand, hard and aching as your fingers curve around it.

Damian wasn’t saying anything. In fact, she didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she sort of nudged his waistband with her wrist, pulling it down far enough to give her access to the … goods. The very appealing goods. Reminding herself that time was of the essence and stalling wouldn’t help him, she started moving her hand, trying to keep together what was left of her nerves as she stroked him. Part of her really doubted this would make a particularly good handjob, considering the fully clothed thing and the mostly dry hand thing (except for some a few drops of cool precum that she had managed to get on her palm and spread thinly up and down), but he didn’t seem to be complaining.

No, on the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying it enough for a man whose brain was half gone to supertoxins. Enough to lean against her, his cheek once again brushing hers as he panted against her ear.

“T—touch … please …” he got out in a shaky whimper. Steph remembered it well … the pollen had made her crave as much touching as possible. She had practically tried ripping Cass’ suit off before her friend got her into a tight hold. Not wanting to risk taking his shirt off and triggering the pollen’s adrenaline rush again, Steph allowed her left hand to move from his shoulder down to his hipbone, right where his suit had ridden up enough for her to reach flesh. He started shaking, exhaling in almost a sob.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, “It’s okay, Dami.” The mantra was like an anchor rooted to sanity, but even as the words came out, she wasn’t sure which one of them she was trying to anchor.

Because okay, this was only easily the most erotic thing she had ever experienced in her life. She only just now realized how much she missed getting to do this with someone. To touch someone, someone so responsive, and know that you hold their pleasure in your hands. Way too many thoughts were crossing her mind as she continued to pump him, each slight change in touch providing her with a new whimper, a new tremble, a new word passing his lips in a sigh and in a language she didn’t understand. Power dynamics were kind of one of her kinks, both as a wielder of it and a recipient, and she couldn’t escape the glaring fact that a growing part of her was enjoying this positively gorgeous guy (a man now, really) and how he was yielding to her so beautifully.

Lord, he was holding on so well, so focused doing what he was told. So very Damian of him, willing himself to stay still. Finally letting herself get into the moment, Steph couldn’t help but test his resolve. He shuddered hard as her free hand moved away from his pelvis and towards his abs, her thumb grazing the spot just below his navel, and his tremor did all sorts of things to her. She started imagining what his abs would taste like. How badly he would shake if her lips touched him there. It would be so easy to lean over and kiss that spot, keeping the pace of her hand going while letting her tongue peek out to taste his skin. And his cock. God, she wanted to taste his cock so goddamn badly—

 _Shit. Shit. No. This is not happening_ , she thought with a wince and a shake of her head. She was the one in control. The one not affected … unless. Unless Damian kissing me transferred some pollen residue into my system, she realized, her hand slowing down. No, that was barely enough kissing to get the toxin into her system, right? Except that it did feel a little like the pull from last time and now she couldn’t stop from thinking about other things she’d rather do than just jack him off. Like if his hand would go through her hair once she started blowing him. Like if she could take all of his perfectly generated cock into her mouth at once and what kind of noises he’d make if she did.

Okay fine, some pollen was in her and doing its work to bloom her normally ignored desire into pure lust, however much Stephanie was trying to keep control. Trying to be the anchor Damian needed to get through this. She doubted the residue was potent enough to do much but tempt her, so she knew she didn’t need his help like he needed hers. And he was close — she could feel it in his shaking and hear it in the gasps leaving his mouth. But Steph still felt like she was dying, dying with every stroke of her hand bringing him closer to completion.

“Damian,” she let out softly, still thinking of everything she’d like to do to him. Later she would realize this was the moment it all went wrong. But she was so distracted by her growing frustration that she didn’t notice him moving his hand from her waist. Or putting his fingers in his mouth. It was only when he put said hand under her sleep shirt and between her legs that it clicked in her brain.

“Dami,” she said in warning, tensing and squirming to get out of his firm grasp just as he was edging to move aside her underwear, “you—” But all thoughts went out of the window when his fingers, wet and slick with his saliva, started stroking her core. Then he pressed them in. And holy fuck, it felt beautiful.

“J’ai besoin de ce,” he grunted out in what she presumed was more French, “J’ai besoin de vous toucher.”

“Yes,” she nodded, getting the gist of his meaning by the way he curled his fingers in. In the back of her head, she knew toxins in his saliva were mixing with her system, much faster now than with the kissing before. Compelled by his touch, she somehow managed to keep stroking his cock, that small part of her mind that was still working knowing that he still needed her to help him through the poison. Still, her attention quickly narrowed to his fingers and her core and the perfect pressure building inside her.

Just when she was on the edge, the edge between pressure and brilliant release, she felt him shudder. His breath was shaking and his body rigid as he came hard into her palm. Leaning over her and using his arm for leverage, his hand slipped from its place in between her legs. She was glad it was over … she was. But that didn’t stop her body from craving the movement from his fingers. From the second hand toxins from making her sexually aroused and needy.

 _Goddamn it, just fuck me already_ , she thought bitterly.

THUNK — she was pushed back against the wall by Damian. His body against her, his dick already getting hard again and his eyes still that hazy green and Stephanie quickly realized—

“I said ‘fuck me already’ out loud, didn’t I?” she said.

He nodded.

“The pollen isn’t out of your system, is it?”

Damian shook his head, his eyes boring into hers and leaning in.

“Well then,” she said, a definite shake to her voice as she took the plunge, “I guess we can try it your wa—”

She was cut off by his kiss, the force of which would have knocked her back into the wall if he hadn’t jerked her into his arms. But Steph was prepared this time and she kissed him back, giving as much as she could because he was giving her so much. They made it to the bed (not that they had far to go — it was only a few feet away from their spot on the wall) with a thud, her back hitting the unmade mess of mattress and sheets. Her shirt rode up past her stomach in the process, the new bit of skin an invitation for Damian to pull her sleep shirt swiftly off her. The chill from the open window hit her bare torso for only a moment, before her partner crashed on top of her, his shirt and tights mysteriously gone so that it was skin against skin and chest against chest and legs entwined with legs.

Steph yelped, her face inches from his and his bare leg pressed again her core. The green-glazed eyed Damian grinned and muttered, “Oh, méchante fille,” the words dragging out like fingertips on skin even as his hands went to yank off her underwear.

And then it was rubbing, grinding, anything to make the pressure under her skin dissipate. He seemed to want to touch her everywhere, from her chest to her waist until his left hand gripped the back of her thigh to move it up slightly and oh god, his stupid genetically enhanced cock was rubbing right against her clit, the friction nearly unbearable and yet exactly what she needed.

“Shiiiit,” Steph groaned out against the side of his neck, “Oh fuck. Oh god. Oh fuck yesss.”

“More,” Damian hissed, more to the air than to her, “MORE.”

Before she could even answer with a “yes,” he spread her open, gripped tight and pushed swiftly into her. Later, perhaps she would be worried about how rough it was. How she felt more animal than human and how he looked like he could devour her. But none of that mattered in the moment, not when he was hammering into her. He knelt up, his hands tight on her waist, not even faltering in the overwhelming rhythm of his hips. Strong, surging hips. Like a piston. He knew what he was doing. Oh fuck he knew what he was doing.

“Damiaaaaaan,” she moaned, taking every thrust like a gift. Like an answer, he yanked her up into his arms and she was straddling his lap and they were still fucking.

Her arms wrapped his neck and her nails in his scalp, Damian groaned against her chest as they moved in tandem. Her hips led the way, his hands guided the motion on the spot just above her ass and they just couldn’t be stopped. She couldn’t be stopped. For the first time in a long time, things felt perfect. It wasn’t just the second-hand toxin — it was him. It had been him for a long time. It was only a moment after that revelation that she felt the indomitable promise that she was oh so close pull her up and up. And everything about his grip and panting and moans said he was right there, finally there.

“Yes,” she practically sobbed, gasping for breath and praying for release, “Please god yes.” She only heard him groan out “Stephanie,” against her chest before full-out thrusting up with their pace.

When they came, it was together — an explosion of hard, beautiful pleasure that ripped at her seams. She heard a loud “Nggghn” come out of her throat, her head back so far that she was practically reaching for the ceiling. It was like she was blasted apart and put back together. Damian just kept groaning, groaning into her chest as he filled her. Steph could feel him quivering beneath her and holding onto her for dear life, and she reveled in it, even as the aftershocks hit her oversensitive clit in waves.

“Ya amar,” he finally said, exhausted but with the kind of reverence that would have worried Stephanie at any other time.

A smiley Steph collapsed onto the bed, Damian already drifting to sleep beside her. She yawned, feeling the effects that even the pollen brought. As her eyelids grew heavy, her eyes idly went to her open closet a few feet away. And she remembered something.

_Oh no._

Sleep overtook her simply through exhaustion, but her last waking thought was dread.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of the story. Thanks for reading.

Damian was vaguely aware of the morning light warming his face as he slowly woke. Usually he hated how the light would peek in through his blinds, but this morning he felt warm … and safe. He still didn’t open his eyes, holding onto his sleep because it had been a good sleep. It had been a good dream. One where he was in bed with Stephanie. But it wasn’t his normal dream about her, the one that always happened in the Batcave with only little details changing. No, this was in a bed, with her on top and his hands guiding her and his face against her chest. It felt so … good. So real.

Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, he could go back to that dream. Plus, his sheet smelled good. Different from how Pennyworth’s launderings usually smelled. It smelled like —

_Stephanie._

And then it came back to him. All of it. The Arboretum. Poison Ivy smugly tossing the smoke bombs full of the toxin. The scientists that needed the antidote. But he also remembered what came after — the toxin taking effect, him miraculously making it to Stephanie’s address, that overwhelming desire to get to her. With dread, Damian remembered what happened next. How he shoved her against the wall, kissed her and grabbed her even when she said for him to wait. He was a monster to her and he took her to bed.

 _Oh god, she’ll hate me forever_ , he thought in a panic. A “must flee” sort of panic. And it was that panic that brought him out of the post-toxin morning haze. And made him realize he was handcuffed to the headboard.

“What the—” Damian said as he struggled. He arched his back to look at the cuff — they were utility belt standard. Damn! If they were a simple novelty pair he could just break them. Now he’d have to break his hand …

“You might want to take it easy there, D.”

He snapped his head towards the voice and there she was. Stephanie. With one hand behind her back, standing at the foot of the bed. Her bed. Which happened to be the bed he was handcuffed to.

And he just realized he was still naked with only the sheets covering his lower half.

“Brown, get me out of these.” He shook his wrists.

“I will if you answer my question,” she said sternly before adding more exasperated, “And seriously don’t struggle. The after affects of the toxins—”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Brown!” Damian snapped, ignoring the aching in his muscles that was probably from the toxins.

She glared. “You want to be like that? Fine. Then tell me why you came here.”

Damian’s heart stopped. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said. “The Arboretum is 20 blocks away from here. It’s way closer to the Manor. Basically just go over the bridge and you’re there.”

Damian’s brain went to survivor mode, which for him meant cold denial. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Damian, I need to know why you came to me. Me specifically.”

“Untie me,” he said, struggling against the restraints.

She looked at him. “No.”

"Untie me, Brown," he said louder, struggling harder.

"No. Not until we talk."

“We have nothing to talk about,” he snapped, “Now let me go.”

“And then what? You run away and we never talk again?”

He didn’t answer because of course he couldn’t do that. Then again, he couldn’t imagine being able to look her in the face after everything he did to her. After he acted like an animal and basically humped her leg. After she had to put him out of his misery out of pity for the stupid boy who didn’t carry enough anti-toxin. Maybe he did want to run away.

“Your silence is telling, Damian,” Stephanie said he didn’t answer.

“Fine,” he spat out, still straining against the handcuffs, “Talk already.” Tell me you’re disgusted. Tell me I had no right to come to you. Tell me this would be the one and only time you “help” me like this.

But instead of the many statements Damian braced for in his own mind, Stephanie simply looked at him and help up the object she was keeping behind her back. Damian stared at it.

“That’s a utility belt,” he said. He felt as if he was missing something that would make the shiny mustard yellow belt seem important to the situation at hand.

“Yes.”

“But that’s not my utility belt,” he added, once he noticed the smaller size and the slightly different compartments.

“No, it’s not yours,” Stephanie said, still holding it up, “… It’s mine.”

“Wha- … Nightwing doesn’t have a yellow belt,” Damian said rather lamely.

“No, she doesn’t,” Steph said, her voice tense, “This is Batgirl’s. Batgirl’s belt circa three years ago.”

He blinked. What was she talking about? Why was she bringing up her former suit’s gear.

“I found this,” she continued when he didn’t respond, now looking at the belt, “a couple weeks ago, I was finally unpacking the last of my storage boxes from the move? This wasn’t in the boxes, it was at the bottom of a big pile of winter clothes in my closet,” she let out a graveling laugh, “You know how bad I am about hanging things.”

“Stephanie, what are—”

“It has anti-toxin,” Stephanie cut him off. “The utility belt. It has two doses of anti-toxin. Enough to help you last night. It was right there in the closet the whole time that could have saved us from this whole thing and it didn’t even connect with me that it was there until we were … done.”

Damian absorbed the words but the main phrase that stuck was “could have saved us from this whole thing.” That particular phrase solidified into confirmation of his worst fears.

“Do you know what the worst thing is, D?” Steph said, shaking from her bitterness. “When I woke up and found this stupid belt in the closet, my first thought, my very first thought was that I was … _glad_ I didn’t remember.”

_Wait … what?_

“What?” Damian echoed out loud.

“Oh god, I hope you don’t hate me,” she said, putting her hands to her face. When she lifted her head, there was resolve there, but it was brittle and shaky.

“Last night … what we did at the end,” She put her eyes toward the ceiling, “I liked it. A lot. I’ve thought about it, about us being together, before this.”

She looked him in the eyes again, the tears welled in her eyes. “I need to know why you came here, came to me, because I need to know how horrible a person I am for giving in and not protecting you.”

He looked upon Stephanie — this woman that he admired and learned to trust. The woman he was sure hated him for his own behavior the night before. And she thought it was her fault. But even more, she said last night … that she might actually …

Damian closed his eyes and prepared. “Take off the handcuffs.”

“No, I’m told you—”

“Stephanie, I swear on my life that I will not run away,” Damian said, opening his eyes, “If I’m going to do this then I want to be sitting up with some small dignity.”

She stared him down, probably trying to judge whether he was telling the truth or not.

“Please, Stephanie.” The please apparently did it, because a moment later she was putting the utility belt up on her dresser and approaching the side of the bed. He closed his eyes as she leaned over him to get to the cuffs. He did his best to make his brain ignore the fact that robe-covered chest was just a few inches above his face. He also did his best to ignore how she smelled the same as she did the night before.

After what felt like an agonizing eternity, he felt the handcuffs unclick on his left side. And then (with her leaning over even more) a click on his right. Free from the restraint, Damian rubbed his wrists and began scooting himself up to a sitting position. In the meantime, Stephanie had moved back to her position at the foot of the bed. Which wasn’t the very best sign but he would take what he could get. She folded her arms, stern and waiting for his answer.

“Stephanie, when I was mad a few minutes ago, when I demanded to leave, it wasn’t because of what you did. I was afraid that I had … forced you.” It made him cringe to say it.

“That’s … that’s stupid,” Stephanie said, “I mean, I would never hold it against you. You were poisoned and confused! You’re not the one here that’s supposed to feel guilty about last night!”

“And you think you’re the one to blame?”

Stephanie looked away again.

“Brown,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “if you had remembered that belt was in your closet last night, what would you have done?”

Her frustration softened a bit at the question. “I … I don’t see why—”

“Come on, Brown,” Damian said, “If you had remembered the belt after I had— after you realized it was Ivy, would you have used it or not mentioned it?”

Tears came to her eyes again and for a split moment Damian feared the answer.

“I would have used it!” Stephanie nearly shouted, “Damnit, of course I would have used it! You could have died last night! And you were in pain! And … and—” She took a deep breath. “And I wouldn’t do those thing to you compromised if I knew I could fix it. No matter how much I liked what you were doing.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Damian said, smiling just a little despite himself. This woman, this woman in front of him, was so good. There was no going back now.

“You wanted to know why I came here last night?” Damian asked, looking her in the face. “Because when the toxins hit my system and I could barely fathom my own name, the one thing that pulsed in my mind was you.”

It was Stephanie’s pursed lips softening in shock that made him look back at his knees. “To be frank,” Damian added, “I’ve felt this way for quite some time.”

“ _Oh_ ,” a still shocked Stephanie managed, more an exhale than a word.

“In the back of my mind I had some hope of breaching the subject with you at some point, but Ivy’s toxins was a catalyst I wasn’t expecting. And now …”

“Now?” Steph said on bated breath.

Damian looked up again. “Now I fear that even if you don’t blame me or hate me after this, the small chance I had to woo you is gone. That whatever attraction you felt for me last night will be tainted by the situation it happened in.”

He thought maybe admitting that fear would make it better. It didn’t really. Especially when she was still standing there, apparently contemplating. But perhaps it was better this way. Perhaps the embarrassment of his affection would have been agonizing no matter when or how he told her. Perhaps through this they could salvage their working relationship. He was preparing to ask her in the least awkward way possible if she had any clothes remotely close to his size so he could leave the apartment when Stephanie did something unexpected … she sat down, delicately, at the foot of the bed.

“You know,” Stephanie said, “I’m wondering how much of you last night was the toxins.”

Damian’s lips pursed as the sting of her words hit him, her doubting his admission of affection. Did she think he was lying? Did she not trust him anymore?

“As in, your performance.”

Damian paused his inner monologue.

“My what?”

“Performance.”

“Performance,” Damian echoed like a trained parrot, not quite able to understand the words.

“Well, performance, size … general stamina,” she said casually, playing with a bit of the bed sheet. “I figure it was probably the toxins.”

A familiar defensiveness brewed in him. “How exactly do you figure that, Brown?”

“Oh don’t get me wrong, I’ve heard rumors about you. But with how powerful the toxin was, I have to believe it had the bigger hand in what happened once we got here,” she patted the bed, “then you did.”

He scowled. “You know nothing, Brown. I had everything to do with last night. The toxins did nothing for my stamina.” The argument had him riled up, a normal occurrence in their partnership. It was strange to feel comfort in an argument, but there he was, feeling more himself in it than he had since the toxins took hold of him.

“In fact,” he continued confidently from his last statement, “if I’d had my wits about me instead of on that poison, I would have gone for _far_ longer last night.”

“Longer?” She teased, leaning in. “Is that a fact, D?”

“That’s a guarantee.” He leaned in as well.

She paused for a moment, looking from his eyes to his lips, the slightest sound coming from her throat that vaguely reminded Damian of the mewling Alfred the cat made just before being served cream.

“You know,” she said, “the only way for me to know for sure you’re not lying about your natural skill is to put it to the test.”

Like in those silly children’s shows Grayson made him watch, a light bulb seem to click above his head. _Oh._

“That does make sense,” Damian said out loud, as much to himself as to her.

“I mean, you did say it was a guarantee,” she smiled, seemingly getting that he caught on. “It’s important for you to uphold your word, right?” Her hand moved to his knee, still under the sheet. With that touch, he made note that her position on the bed had moved significantly closer to his between when she first sat down and now. He knew what she was doing, what this acknowledged and how it also briefly postponed the conversation they’d no doubt need to have if this was her answer. But with her leaning forward over him, the robe slipping a bit off her left shoulder, he didn’t seem to mind that strategy.

“You know, Brown,” he muttered as his hand found her waist and her hand moved up his thigh, “We should probably test this a few times. Just in case we have some residual toxins in our system.”

“You mean,” she said, now inches away from his mouth, “like testing it right now and then again tonight?”

“And tomorrow morning, perhaps, yes,” Damian nodded, trying to keep sitting up on one elbow as his hand blindly managing to find and pull on the robe’s tie enough to come loose.

“Well, if we’re going to be thorough about it,” she grinned before bridging that small space between them with a kiss. It wasn’t lost on him (even as he was enjoying her lips and tongue and that sound back in her throat) that even after all they had done the night before, this was the first kiss that she had initiated. It was sweet and felt right, as if he could imagine doing this every morning. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing.

But they would talk more about what this meant for them later. For now, his thoughts of future day fell way to the feeling of his hand under her open robe. For now, her hips were rocking against his lap and hardening erection in an absolutely tortuous way, even with the sheet between them.

“Mmmm, D,” Stephanie moaned, smiling against his mouth and arms now wrapped around his neck.

“What are you thinking?” he asked in a whisper, eyes heavy.

“I’m thinking … I still want to know what you said last night in French.”

Without a word, he flipped her onto her back, making her shriek and laugh and then moan just a little as his mouth made contact with her neck and his hand made its way between her legs. Oh, there would be time to tell her what he said in French. And in Arabic. But for now, if Stephanie wanted to know his natural talents as a lover … well, Damian Wayne was certainly up for the challenge.


End file.
